


A Means to an End

by Knockoutsince91



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Other, Past Abuse, Sherlolly - Freeform, Writing both sides is hard, after the final problem
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knockoutsince91/pseuds/Knockoutsince91
Summary: This is set after "The Final Problem"The story begins with John and Sherlock riding back to London. Sherlock must face the repercussions of exposing his true feelings to Molly.Each chapter alternates between Sherlock's perspective and Molly's perspective. Sometimes one character may take up two back-to-back chapters.** Disclaimer: Not my original characters or original backstory (obviously). **





	1. A Complicated Relationship

SHERLOCK

“You… you need to speak with her, Sherlock. She needs to understand.” John stated, he leaned against the window, closing his eyes. The scenery changed from rural farmlands into busier city streets, and he knew something needed to be said. It was the first words John had spoken since they found a cabbie to take them back to 221B Baker Street. Back to face the repercussions; it was a mess.

Mycroft had readily agreed to ‘handle the situation’ once John and I secured transportation home. And by handling the situation, he meant sweep everything under the rug and make sure no one knew what happened. Mycroft was good at cleaning up the mistakes of others, most of all, mine. That was the one redeeming quality about my annoying older brother. But before I slipped into the cab, Mycroft put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t avoid her, Sherlock. Don’t shut her out. That’s one mess I can’t undo.”

Mycroft’s words buzzed around my mind as we approached the flat. It had begun to rain, and I stared out past the droplets accumulating on the window into the shadowy, grey morning that approached, my eyes fixed on nothing. Thinking, always thinking, always planning ahead, finding alternative solutions, if one solution backfired. Always sure, resolute, egotistical and confident to a fault. And now… “Things have changed, Sherlock.” John started.

_Oh John, if only it was just “a change” like a change in the weather or a change of socks._ I said nothing, waiting for John to continue, as I was sure he would. He would not let the matter drop until he said what he needed to say; that was John, always with the dogged determination to communicate his feelings, whether I wanted to hear them or not.

“Sherlock…. Molly needs—“ John began, but I waived his comment away. “Stop. I’m thinking.” I couldn’t meet John’s now reproachful gaze. “Don’t deflect like that.” John said, his voice stern, I finally turned towards him, “What happened back there, what happened on that island, with Eurus… You didn’t get to explain to Molly…. You couldn’t,” he said, searching for the right words, looking down in his lap and ruffling the back of his hair. “I know you, Sherlock. I know you can be a downright manipulative bastard to get what you need. The end always fits the means with you…. Well usually.” John paused.

He let the comment hang in the air. He knew Molly and I’s collective past. He’d been there for the duration of our relationship. I remembered the first time I’d introduced them. Molly was a means to justify an end that night. She had assisted with an autopsy I needed performed. I remembered how eager she was then, her eyes held so much light in them. She was so always full of hope and, unfortunately, naivety. For a woman who worked with dead corpses all day, I would have thought she’d be more…. morose? Realistic? _More like me._ I had underestimated her compassion initially, and once she exposed that side of herself to me, I exploited it.

Molly Hooper was easily manipulated and therefore, useful. She would walk behind me like a silly school girl prattling on and I indulged her for the most part. I came to her many times for assistance after that night, for that reason. It was all too easy. Compliment her hair, get a toxicology report done in a flash. Compliment her blouse, have a body that needed examined rolled out on the slab. Simple. Efficient. And then it wasn’t anymore. The young, naïve woman changed. She started to see through me, to my chagrin. She saw through my manipulations. Of all people, she knew when I was wrestling with myself; fighting off my inner demons. In turn, I had belittled her, snapped at her, ignored her, and she stayed.

At first it was merely an oddity. People seemed to be doing that a lot lately, this staying thing. John being the most recent, and Lestraude. Then, when Moriarty came into the picture, Molly did what she could to help me fake my death and conceal it from the world. To keep my secret. No one else could have pulled it off like she did. The plan was brilliant. She was brilliant. The day she had assisted me with my cases, she was remarkable. I remembered walking down the stairwell after we had our first break in the case; looking at that damned ring on her hand and wishing her happiness. I’d replayed that event over and over, kicking myself for being so stupid.

That was the day when I’d felt something I had never felt before; like the all the air in my lungs was sucked out and my chest had been crushed under a huge weight. Of course, I genuinely wanted her to be happy, she of all people deserved it. But a nagging, selfish part of me wanted to make her happy. I knew in that moment that she was no longer a means to an end. She was Molly Hooper. Brilliant, observant, witty, strong Molly Hooper, and I wanted to be her happiness. And now… how _the hell_ would I explain what happened hours before? Of all things, communicating emotions was not my strong suit. That was what I had John for. Eurus’s words echoed in the back of my head, “Emotional context, Sherlock. It destroys you every time.”

The cabbie stopped outside 221B Baker Street, announcing our arrival and extending a hand for his fare. I smirked over at John, who rolled his eyes and paid the cabbie, grabbing the newspaper that had been lying between us and stepping out into the rain. John walked around towards the flat, newspaper covering his mussed hair, his eyes weary.

“You coming?” He asked through the now open window of my side of the cab. My eyes drifted downwards, not wanting to admit what that John was right and revealing what I was about to do, “You’re right John. I need to see her. To…. explain. I have to. She deserves that.” I looked back towards John, sighing heavily.

John nodded solemnly, a trace of a grin tugging at the side of his mouth. As the cabbie asked for directions, I saw John pull up his collar against the rain, and walked towards the flat. Suddenly, he turned and shouted, “Be kind to her. She’s still Rosie’s godmother. I’ll need her around.” I nodded, and the cabbie drove off, winding through the streets towards Molly’s flat. I reached into my pocket, grabbed my phone, and sent her a text:

 

 

_Molly. I’m coming over now. We need to talk. I need to see you._

_SH_


	2. What Do You Want?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I decided to give y'all a treat and post Chapter 2 tonight. (I'm a southern girl, we use y'all frequently) Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, I greatly appreciate them. Chapter 3 will probably come at the end of this week. Enjoy!

MOLLY

 

I didn’t sleep that night. I tried to force myself to sleep for the mere satisfaction that, if I could sleep, I had won the battle raging in my head.  No tears came, and for that I was grateful. Plenty had spilled down my cheeks and onto the floor after speaking with Sherlock. Finally, around 4:30 in the morning, I gave up, slipping on my robe and shuffling into the kitchen, absentmindedly reaching for coffee to get the day started. The coffee maker hummed as I leaned against the counter, exactly where I stood yesterday. When I got that call. I sighed heavily, closed my eyes and thought back, finally letting my brain relive that moment. 

 

It was a dreary day, just like this one. I had turned to pick up my keys and rush out of the flat when my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID with contempt. “Sherlock”.  _ Typical _ , I thought. Always needing me when it was convenient for him. I let it ring, and ring, hoping it would silence before I lost my nerve to ignore him.  _ Stay strong, keep your resolve. _ I willed herself to keep my hand from tapping “Answer”. For a moment, the vibrations stopped, and I grabbed the keys and the phone and walked towards the door. Then they started up again, I rolled my eyes, clicking the answer button with a huff, “Hello Sherlock, is this urgent because I’m not having a good day.” 

  
  


The coffeemaker beeped twice, waking me from my thoughts. I didn’t want to relive the call. I needed it to stay hidden in the back of my brain. I willed my brain not to replay that conversation. Those three words. From him.  _ “ _ Damn him.” I said airily, out loud to no one, laughing sardonically at Sherlock, myself, and our friendship or whatever it was. I pulled up my hair with the hair tie I kept around my wrist, pouring my coffee into an overlarge mug, my thumbs running over the rim as I took a sip.  _ If only coffee could clear my mind this morning.  _ But it was a futile effort, I knew. I walked over to the window, staring into a foggy London morning. The rain had let up but only slightly. Steady drops still hit my window.  _ He shouldn’t have this control over me, I’m not at his beck and call.  _ It’s probably why I had avoided calling him and asking what the hell he thought he was doing pulling a stunt like that. I didn’t want to give in to whatever experiment I was now a part of. I knew that our relationship was complicated. I knew that at one point, I was a blip on Sherlock’s radar. A fangirl if you will, who got my kicks by helping  _ THE  _ great Sherlock Holmes solve mysteries. He got what he needed and I let him have his way about my lab and down in the morgue. Then, I grew up. I watched him, and then I began studying him; I saw more than even John saw. I thought, for a moment, he started seeing me differently too. 

 

_ Foolishness. _ I shook the thought out of my head. I ran into my bedroom and pulling on an overly large sweater and black leggings, throwing on my red rain boots, and grabbed an umbrella from the holder next to the door and left. Leaving my phone precisely where it lay the day before, untouched. I leaned against my front door, closing my eyes.  _ Maybe if I get out of the flat, maybe then I can shake these feelings. _

 

As I stepped into the grey morning I slid a newspaper from the top of the pile that sat out in the early morning rain before Bill could begin hastily putting them in their respective boxes. He winked and smiled at me. Bill had always let me grab the first copy before anyone else on my way to work in the morning. I glanced back with a tight, but warm smile in a silent ‘thank you’ as I opened my navy-blue umbrella and continued down the street. 

 

I flipped through the pages, looking for any clue as to Sherlock’s whereabouts. I’d been… absent at late. Absent because I needed to move on. I needed space. I hadn’t said as much, but Sherlock texted less and less, needed me less and less, and I took that as a silent, mutual understanding that Sherlock knew what I truly needed. 

 

However, I wasn’t completely gone from the lives of the two Baker Street Boys. Rosie was a good distraction. Only a few days ago I was there when she turned to John, smiled up at him, and said “Papa”. I looked on as a bystander from the kitchen, leaning against the edge of the door frame and beaming as John scooped up Rosie and showered her with kisses and praise. It was beautiful, how much John loved her. I couldn’t think of any purer love; I’d never known anything like that. 

 

I approached the bakery and café that was my usual haunt on my days off. I stepped inside, greeted the server and asked for a few fresh baked rolls and a little cookie with rose shaped red icing piped on it intricately. Not for myself, but for Rosie. I got to the counter to pay, and my eye drifted behind the counter to the fresh flowers arranged neatly behind it. Flowers, something I’d never been given. Not even by Tom, my ex- fiancé. I absent-mindedly ran my right index finger over my left ring finger, remembering when it used to be filled but was now empty. My chest suddenly ached as if on instinct. Such a silly idea, to be given flowers. The gesture was ages old, no one did that anymore. Yet I still wanted that. To be thought of, in that way. 

 

“Would you like a bouquet, Miss? They’re fresh and customers have been raving they last forever,” An old woman approached the counter, wiping her hands on her apron, removing the dough and flour before totaling my order. I hesitated, and then said, resolutely, “Yes actually, I’d love some.” I pointed to the back where a bouquet of light pink roses sat in a vase. The old woman chuckled and smiled, and added it to my total. “A woman who knows what she wants, I like it.” The lady handed my bakery items to me in a brown bag and wrapped the flowers in newspaper. I looked at my receipt, “You didn’t charge me for the -- the flowers,” I said looking up. The woman smiled knowingly, “Free of charge. Cheer up love, remember, you are in charge of your own happiness. You bought your own damn flowers.” She chuckled and winked and I let out a light laugh. I grinned back at the woman as I exited the shop, waving through the window and walking back towards my flat. 

 

I felt strong as I entered the foyer and ran up the stairs. A renewed energy stemming from the interaction in the bakery. I put my key in the door, leaning against it to open it up and set the flowers and the bag down in the kitchen. I reluctantly glanced at my phone, like it was a toxic thing I wanted to be rid of. I put away the goods and placed the flowers in water and on the counter, smiling slightly with my hands on my hips. Feeling satisfied with my impromptu purchase. And then I heard it, or I thought I heard it. The light buzz of a text message. No, no, no. Not when I was finally feeling stronger. Why now? That phone call from Sherlock yesterday had sapped any power I felt I had left. By finally saying those words, I thought I had relinquished all of my power to him. I remembered leaning against the wall and sinking to the floor when the call ended, feeling completely numb.  _ But, he had said those words too. _ I reminded myself. No, no hope. Stop. I tried to explain it away. It was a joke, a ruse, he needed something from me and upped the ante from compliments to…  _ to what? To that?!?  _  Even if I did let my emotions cloud my judgment, that still seemed odd. I reluctantly swiped left and the text message lit up the screen:

 

_ “Molly. I’m coming over now. We need to talk. I need to see you. _

__                                                                                     -SH” _ _

 

 

_ Shit.  _ I stared at the words over and over for a few moments, unable to move. I almost ran into my bathroom to brush my hair and change my clothes, but I stopped myself.  _ No, don’t let him see it affected you. Play his game. Stay strong.  _

 

I took in a deep breath and let it out, then moved to my couch, propping up on the pillow behind me, eyes staring at the door. I must have dozed off because I jumped when I heard three raps on the door. I nearly fell completely off the couch, but my hands thankfully caught the fall with a loud thump. “Molly…” He started. His voice was harsh, ragged. “Molly open the door please.” I made no noise, looking down at the floor, even tried to hold my breath, hoping he’d give up. “Molly, I know you’re in there…” He said, his voice rising with something… anger? Annoyance? “You can’t hide the water stain from those red rain boots you insist on wearing, open up.”  I closed my eyes, steeling myself against the emotions rising in my throat. I took a deep breath, and rose slowly,  _ Shit, shit, shit! _ I finally started walking towards the door, dreading the interaction ahead. I slowly turned the deadlock and let out the breath I had been holding in. I opened the door slightly, the chain still attached, wishing I could keep him out. I sighed heavily, “What do you want, Sherlock?” 

 


	3. Please Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters are back-to-back Sherlock POV.

SHERLOCK

Once the cabbie pulled away from the curb, I felt my anxiety level rise. _She must absolutely hate me._ I sighed, running my hand through my hair. I stared out the window for a while, pulling a pen from my pocket and flipping it between the fingers on my left hand, my right still bruised and swollen from breaking the damned casket into a thousand pieces earlier. _I don’t fidget, this isn’t me. I don’t…_ I stopped moving the pen in my fingers. I smiled knowingly, somewhat sadly. _Once you open your heart, you can’t close it again._

The cabbie’s voice broke through my musings and announced our arrival. I looked up through the window to her flat. I knew exactly which one it was; the white bay window projecting out amongst all the other flat facades. I really didn’t have a plan for how this interaction would go. She probably wouldn’t let me through the door, and I didn’t blame her. Before I lost my nerve, I slid out of the cab and started to walk towards the entrance. “Oi!” The cabbie shouted, and I stopped, and clenched my fist, still looking up towards her window, trying to keep from climbing back into the cab. I looked back, and the cabbie shouted, in a strong Hackney accent, “Your friend did’n- pay me for this trip!” I laughed and I sighed. “Dammit John,” quickly giving the cabbie what I owed him, and a generous tip. I turned back towards her flat as the cabbie drove away. I stood in the rain for what felt like forever, gathering any courage I could muster. Of all the dangerous and unnerving things I’d done, this was by far the most dangerous. Isn’t that what I lived for? A new puzzle, a new adventure. I chased my addictions and quickly replaced one for another. But this, this was different, and it had scared me throughout my entire life.

I walked through the doors of the foyer, completely soaked through, shaking my trench coat free of rain. I took the stairs two at a time, which wasn’t really a challenge due to the narrow stairwell and my long stride. However, I paused at the top of the steps leading to Molly’s flat, breathing heavily. I smiled as I looked down and recognized the fading water marks of those red rain boots she usually wore when the weather was less than ideal. I followed those marks to her front door. I raised a hand to knock but paused, my jaw clenched and unclenched. I finally swallowed and knocked; three little raps.

“Molly…” I started, my voice breaking on the last syllable. As I cleared my throat I heard a loud thump on the other side of her door and I grinned. She’d probably dozed off on the couch and fell off when I knocked. Be kind to her. I heard John’s words echo in the back of my mind. “Molly open the door please.” I pleaded, my voice strained. I heard nothing from her side of the door. Did she understand how awful I felt? Did she realize how hard this was for me? “Molly, I know you’re in there…” I stated, staring at the door, taking a few seconds to calm my voice to match the delicate situation I was in, “You can’t hide the water stain from those red rain boots you insist on wearing, open up.” I finished, leaning my forehead against the door and listening for movement. I was about to turn around and walk back down the hall, but I heard the deadlock turn, and my heart leapt into my throat as I stepped back. The door opened, but only slightly. The chain was still connected at the top of the door, as if she’d hoped she could still shut me out. That she still had control on the situation. That she could still shut the door back and end the conversation with a turn of the lock. “What do you want, Sherlock.”

Her eyes didn’t meet mine. I took the chance to study her through the three-inch gap she’d opened between us. Hair parted on the side as usual, a bit frizzy from the rainy stroll she had taken, eyes swollen and puffy. From what? Crying? Lack of sleep was the prognosis I finally settled on. An overlarge, heather grey sweatshirt hung on her tiny frame, her right shoulder slightly exposed, “Saint Bartholomew’s Hospital,” It read on the top left-hand corner in red cursive. Oh Molly, your mind is always on your work, even on your day off. Black leggings that cut off at the ankles and light grey, fuzzy socks completed the ensemble. I willed her to look at me, but said nothing at first. “Well, for starters, I’d like to talk to you without a door between us.” _Dammit._ I mentally chided myself.  
“I don’t think you’re in the position to be making any requests, Sherlock, especially after that stunt you pulled last night,” She still avoided my gaze, her words were like ice and they cut me deep. “What did you think you’d gain? What could you possibly want so badly from me that you needed to say those words. My feelings aren’t a game, Sherlock.” Her tone was angry, her body shook with anger. The realization of what I had put her through sunk into my veins like ice and I tried to think of the right words, any words that could get me through that front door.

“I—Molly please look at me.” I begged, and she slowly looked up, her grey eyes met mine, and she shut the door quickly. I thought all hope was lost then. It felt like a boulder had made its way to the bottom of my stomach and sat there, pressing deep into my core. Then I heard the chain drop, and the door opened. I gave her a small, encouraging smile. Trying to break down her anger slowly. She met my gaze with contempt, her lips drawn in a thin line, her body tense.

“Come in.” She said coldly, turning before she finished. I took off my trench coat and hooked it on the rack next to the door, my eyes never leaving her. She walked in front of me, head down, eyes down, making her way towards the living area. My eyes wandered, taking in the little flat she called home.

It was… clean. Very clean compared to the bachelor pad that was 221B Baker Street. Modern appliances, and a very light grey paint scheme to match in the kitchen. I stopped in my tracks when I saw those light pink roses sitting on the island. “What are those?” I asked, incredulous, my eyes never leaving the blushing pink petals. Fresh roses, I could tell. The blooms had not opened yet, so she must have received them this morning or last night. Molly looked behind her, a light blush creeping into her cheeks, “R—roses” She said, making her way quickly past the kitchen. I reluctantly followed. Who were they from? I had kept tabs on Molly, and I knew she wasn’t seeing anyone. _Or maybe she’d gone through great lengths to hide him from me._ I pushed my jealousy aside as we entered the living area.

As I remembered, she was very neat. Her home almost looked like it was out of a magazine, which stood in stark contrast to the dark den of my living area, books strewn everywhere, and of course the yellow graffiti smiley face and three bullet holes in the wall didn’t exactly scream ‘appealing’ to visitors. The dark wood floors of the hallway opened into a bright living area, separated from a dining area by a half wall. A comfortable-looking overly plush khaki sofa and a dark grey high backed velvet chair, with a wide coffee table was on the left. On the right, a small flat screen television with boxes of movies underneath, stacked alphabetically, and a rose-pink chaise lounge in the far-right corner near the large window overlooking the west. I smiled as I saw her reading nook. She had mentioned that she had spent entirely too much on this flat, but that it was worth it for the window. She had lined the wood where the window jutted out with a custom-made red velvet cushion, two pillows sat on each side of the seating area, and two succulents sat together on the window sill. Underneath the seat, her books lined the bottom of the window in little boxes made for that purpose. Dark reading glasses sat on a pile of medical journals that were in a messy heap on the left. The only area in her home which looked… lived in. She sat on the couch, her legs curling underneath her, and she gestured to the dark grey chair, which I took.

Then silence. It was a long silence, the electricity of words unsaid buzzed through my brain. “Molly, I need you to…. to promise me something,” I began, my eyes searched hers, looking for acquiescence. She stared at me coldly, her breathing labored as she searched for the venomous words she wanted to use against me, “Promise you? What are my promises worth to you, Sherlock?” she began, her words wavering with emotion, “In fact, what is anything I do or say worth to you? I have tried to be the good friend, the reliable friend. I’ve tried to help you when you needed it most, and then you said those words last night and it was like you spat in my face!” She said, her hands moving erratically as she spoke. So many emotions ran across her face: anger, contempt, sadness, then exhaustion. “The story I’m about to tell you is, quite remarkable. You’re not going to want to believe it, I still can’t at times.” She looked like she was about to unleash more of her wrath, but I spoke before she could interject, “But I need you to promise to listen. Please Molly. I know you’re angry. You have every right to hate me. I know you’re still thinking up ways to cut me deep to the core, without leaving that sofa.” The edges of my mouth twitched upwards, but my eyes then strayed from hers, the emotional pain I felt for putting her through hell was enough to cripple any man, but I had to continue, “I deserve it. Your contempt. But if I could ask anything of you, right now, though I have no right to,” My words hitched with emotion at the end of the sentence, “I need you to listen.” She stared at me for what seemed like ages, assessing the truth in my statements, no doubt. She looked away and finally nodded her assent. 


	4. I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter to get you through the week! This one is a rollercoaster of emotions. ;) It's a fairly short one, but the next couple are much longer.

SHERLOCK

I explained the island, Eurus, Moriarty, and Mycroft’s mistake. I thought she would interrupt eventually, but she stayed quiet, her eyes expressionless as she listened. I told her about the “tasks” Eurus had put us to. How John, Mycroft and I were all practically pawns in her hand, and how she moved us as such from room to room, until….

“We came into one of the last rooms, and faced the television, on which we knew Eurus would appear,” I said, matter-of-factly, “She said someone was going to die, Molly. She told us to look in the corner of the room and a cheap, plywood coffin was perched on its end.” I stopped. I was wringing my hands now, my composure all but gone, my eyes looking anywhere but in hers, “The words, ‘I Love You’ were engraved on a plaque on the top.” I ran my left index finger over the blood stains on my right knuckles, and my jaw clenched as I heard her take in a deep breath. Oh, how I had damaged her. How I had had no clue how I damaged her. Unrequited love, they say, is probably one of the most painful feelings one could ever experience. “And when I saw those words my heart stopped. I knew exactly who Eurus was going to go after. And I had to stop it.” A tear dripped onto my cheek. It was a strange feeling, but not altogether foreign. I had never been above expressing sorrow when needed, but this was the beginning of my undoing, and I no longer fought it. “That’s when she called you. From my number. Molly there were cameras in here,” Another tear stained my other cheek, “And I saw you. Standing in the kitchen, looking at my call coming in. Looking hurt, confused, and tired. Then you answered, and I told you I loved you.” My eyes closed as I leaned back in the chair. I gathered up any courage I could muster before continuing, “Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side.” I quipped, remembering those exact words I had used as a weapon against Irene Adler, that formidable woman who had once fallen for me, “I believed that for a very long time, Molly. If I pushed people away, if I kept them at arms length, if I was cruel, rude, sarcastic, even egotistical, I could keep those whom I chose to interact with, safe, and my mind clear.” I opened my eyes and I finally looked at her. She was leaning her elbows on her knees, looking out through the window, her eyes pooling with tears which started to leak at the corners. “And then I met you. I met you and I treated you like I treated everyone I chose to interact with. Then John came into the picture, and Mary.” I continued, “I thought it was strange. These people were willing to stay by me no matter what I did to them, and I never offered anything in return. It baffled me, these relationships I had acquired without intending to acquire them. I was becoming a better person because of them. I never wanted that feeling to end. Then Mary…” The tears started streaming down my face, and I could no longer hold them in, “When Mary died protecting me. I admit it. I unraveled.” My words were hurried as I continued, “John hated me, and rightfully so. You hated me. I…. I had no one again. Just like before, but now, it hurt. It hurt deep down in my soul where I didn’t think anyone could reach. I felt guilty. I wanted to avoid these emotions, these feelings that made everything so complicated. That was how I lived my life, logic and reason above all else, void of human emotion, of sentiment.” I stood slowly and sat next to her on the couch, keeping one cushion in between us, both of our eyes were looking forward, avoiding eye contact. “But when I said those words yesterday, I meant them.” I turned to her, gently wrapping her small hands in mine. She looked down into her lap as her tears were staining the front of her sweatshirt, “I love you, Molly Hooper. And it scares the hell out of me.” I kissed her delicate hands, squeezing them firmly in mine. Hoping beyond hope she’d believe me. She finally met my gaze, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks, “You… you love me,” She said, almost as a question, her eyes searching mine for any falsity or worse, humor, “You love me.” She said, more solidified as she started to come to terms with all I had just disclosed.

That’s when Molly Hooper broke down. The sobs came, heavy sobs that shook her small frame. She began hyperventilating she was crying so hard. I instinctively pulled her into my arms. I felt her stiffen at first, then her body went limp and she leaned against my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. I stroked her hair, kissing the top of her head as I tried to calm her. I leaned back against the pillow on the couch, gently pulling her with me, cradling her in my arms. I heard her breathing become more regular, and I finally let my eyes shut, still running my hands through her hair, holding her close. She melted against me, her warmth seeping into my cold, wet skin. This felt so right. I felt at peace; a peace I didn’t know existed. I noticed she had fallen asleep, and I knew I would soon succumb to my exhaustion and join her. Before drifting off, I whispered, “I love you. I always will.”


	5. Bloodstream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinting at a little off-canon plot line, maybe you can spot it? Fairly short Molly chapter, but there's a chance I might post the next chapter on Sunday or Monday. I'm spending the evening editing, revising and plotting my next chapters.

 

MOLLY

We must have slept like that for hours, Sherlock’s arm draped protectively over my waist, his nose resting inches from my hair. The clouds parted outside and warm, yellow light of the London afternoon pooled on the floor in the flat. I finally yawned, but kept my eyes closed, avoiding the light shining behind my eyelids. I finally opened my eyes, rubbing them with the sleeve of my sweatshirt as I looked down at the arm holding my waist protectively. Sherlock’s arm. My eyes widened when I finally realized where I was and what had happened between us. It still felt like a dream; like I had fallen into some sort of alternate reality and all of this was happening, and at the same time it wasn’t. I turned my head slightly, looking back on the still sleeping Sherlock, his breathing was even and slow. He looked so tired; the five o’ clock shadow growing darker around his chin and lips. His eyes still puffy from days and days of no sleep. Yet, he looked so peaceful. I smiled slightly, watching his chest rise and fall for a few more moments. I was used to the pacing, restless and usually irritable Sherlock. The Sherlock who played the violin at three in the morning and raced out of the lab when he had a breakthrough in a case without another word or a ‘thank you’. But seeing him laying on my couch, sleeping so soundly, it made my heart warm. I looked down at the watch on my right wrist, which read 3:30 pm. As if on cue, my stomach rumbled from lack of food for the better part of the day. I gently slid from underneath the long, heavy arm trapping me to the couch. Sherlock snorted and readjusted, but didn’t wake, his arm lying where it had before. I suppressed a giggle, leaning forward gently and kissed him on his cheekbone, my lips lingered for a moment before pulling away with a smile. I’ll have to tease him about snoring later. I tiptoed out of the living room, letting Sherlock drift back into a deep sleep.

I walked into the bathroom and brushed my hair and swept it to the side, putting it back into some sort of order from the disarray that sleep had left it in. Instead of instinctively pulling it up into a bun or ponytail, I stopped myself. Looking at my reflection as I turned on the sink to brush away my morning breath. I’d always considered myself rather plain looking. Not in a bad way, but just… nothing special. I never turned heads and I most certainly never caught Sherlock’s attention, despite his attention being the only kind I had craved. Eventually, I stopped caring whether he noticed me or not. But there were moments when he’d comment on a new lip color or if I braided my hair in a certain way and my heart would jump. Other than those moments, which I tried to avoid, I had resolutely decided that he would never care about me the way I cared for him.

I decided to let my hair hang down, the brown tresses tumbled down my shoulders. I saw it as an act of defiance of the person I used to be. Before I could change my mind, I walked back into the kitchen, tucking the left side of my hair behind my ear out of habit. I pushed the “on” button on the Bluetooth stereo, turning the knob lower to avoid waking Sherlock in the next room. A familiar song came on instantly: Bloodstream. The piano began its calming melody and my head bobbed to the beat and I smiled as I reached for the teapot, filling it and grabbing two cups from the cupboard. Two cups, how long had it been since I’d made tea for two people in my own home? I didn’t really entertain guests often, mainly because I used up all of my energy at work and my flat was my refuge. No family ever came to stay in the guest room. Dad was dead, Mum was…. nonexistent. That was the best way to put it, rather than what she really was. No siblings that I knew of, though who knows. The kettle started heating on the stove and I grabbed some bread to toast, humming along with the chorus and minding the kettle. I smiled, feeling the warm afternoon sun kissing my face, and closed my eyes as I sang along to the familiar melody, “I think I might’ve inhaled you, I can feel you behind my eyes, you’ve gotten into my bloodstream……” He told me he loved me. The man I had grown to love, despite everything, actually loved me back. Isn’t that what everyone craved out of life? Some people chased that kind of love for their entire lives and never got it. Others settled and tried to make it work. Some people found it and then lost it again. No matter how bitter and resentful a person was, or seemed to be, they were once an idealist when it came to love. I was like that once, an idealist, then bitter, but I now only felt peace. Like some part of my soul had been restless for a long time and I never really noticed it until the calm I felt now pervaded my innermost self. This new feeling was so pure. I knew I should probably question it, and I should probably be wary of it, but not right now. I spread jam on the toast and took the water off the stove top, smiling as I kept singing along softly. I was startled when I felt his hands rest gently on the top of my shoulders. His hands ran down my arms to steady me as he kissed the back of my head, then leaned down near my left ear that was exposed, the rough hair on his cheek next to mine, “My, my, Molly Hooper…. I didn’t know you could sing,” he said, his voice ragged and deep, his breath tickling my ear. I sighed, the electricity in his fingertips waking me fully from my daydream. I felt my heart start beating faster, my cheeks growing warm and I smiled, still smearing jam on the bread, my movements still calm, “I’m sure there’s quite a lot you have yet to deduce about me, Mr. Holmes,” I giggled, reaching for the tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference: The song is "Bloodstream" by Stateless


	6. I Want You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being MIA for a while.... I'm in a writer's block funk which is fueled by anxiety for studying for my bar exam, which I retake in the end of February. I promise things will clear up after I take the exam... or at least I hope so.
> 
> This is a Sherlock chapter, and I think you'll really like it! As always, please feel free to comment and leave kudos.

SHERLOCK

I felt like I dreamed the warm lips on my cheek, but instead I realized it was gentle, yet unintended wake up call from Molly. I rolled towards the edge of the couch, waking quickly once I realized the warmth of her body was notably absent. Rubbing my eyes, I yawned and stretched as I tried to adjust to the light in the room. I hadn’t slept like that in… well I’d never slept that well. Usually I was lucky to get a few hours of decent, though restless, sleep a night. I sat up, and noticed Molly had somehow removed my shoes in my sleep. Impressive, since I prided myself on being a light sleeper. Light music emanated from the kitchen; a smooth melody with a piano playing a simple tune. I walked slowly towards the kitchen, trying to make no noise. That’s when I heard Molly’s voice join in on the chorus, “I think I might’ve inhaled you, I can feel you behind my eyes, you’ve gotten into my bloodstream……”It was beautiful; the way her voice melted over the notes as she sang them. I slowly peered out from behind the edge of the doorway, watching her without saying anything. I leaned against the edge of the door, crossing my arms and not daring to interrupt her. She was bobbing her head along with the beat, setting the tea kettle to boil, her hair recently brushed. 

She smiled at nothing in particular as she sang, absent-mindedly applying jam and licking her thumb after she had finished. She was so beautiful in that moment. It was a simple kind of beautiful. People always thought beauty was intricate. Oh no, I knew better. Raw, pure beauty found in simple moments; that means more than any painting hanging a gallery somewhere, out of reach and behind layers of glass. I approached her slowly, my eyes traveling from her smile, down her neck, resting on the exposed skin of her right shoulder. My pulse quickened and I swallowed nervously; I wanted to kiss that shoulder, that neck, those lips. There was a point in time, I kept those thoughts quite efficiently at bay. She was a colleague, a friend, and I couldn’t afford to feel those feelings for her. The repercussions for both of them were dangerous. Then I started getting jealous. I denied the idea at first, but her engagement and the men she dated leading up to that, I had always had some crass comment that would make her furious with me. I was known for my biting wit, but I felt as if those jabs came effortlessly, and that concerned me. Now, since I laid my heart bare for her, I couldn’t think of an argument to stop me from indulging in everything I had ever truly wanted. It was like I had jumped off a cliff and I was diving headfirst into everything I’d tried so hard to avoid, and I didn’t fight it anymore. The type of unabashed surrender I swore never to succumb to, but I didn’t want to deny myself anymore. There was no going back now; the point of no return.

I walked behind her, gently placed my hands on her shoulders, she jumped, but I ran my hands down her arms so she’d avoid dropping the knife, steadying her hands. She sighed when I kissed the back of her head. Her hair smelled of lavender, the scent had lured me into sleep hours before. I leaned close to whisper in her ear, “My, my, Molly Hooper…. I didn’t know you could sing,” I chuckled, feeling her relax against my chest, “I’m sure there’s quite a lot you have yet to deduce about me, Mr. Holmes,” she said, giggling, still running jam across the last slice of bread. My eyebrow raised questioningly but I said nothing as I gripped her waist, pulling her close and swaying to the music. She felt so good next to me, like she was meant to be there. He felt her breathing become shallow, and she dropped the knife suddenly, her eyes closed. “Allow me to surprise you with my acumen,” I kissed her cheek quickly, and I hummed the melody into her ear. “Ah, let’s see…. I know your favorite color is yellow, which is a silly color if I might add,” I teased, kissing the hollow of her neck, her breath caught in her throat, “I know your favorite flowers are begonias, and you love the smell of jasmine and lavender, though not mixed together,” I continued softly, “I know the scars on the knuckles of your right hand were from falling off your bicycle when you were seven,” I pulled her right hand to my lips, kissing them softly. I noticed everything about everyone, and Molly knew that. That’s how I worked; I observed, and from my observations I made deductions. But I also knew that since she knew my methods, she’d be quick enough to figure out how to conceal what she wanted to keep hidden. I turned her towards me, looking into her brown eyes, studying her, wondering what she was thinking. I knew she must still be questioning everything that had just happened. I knew she needed more than just words to ease her worries. How similar they both were, so hesitant to trust without actual proof. Despite her caring nature, Molly would always be a scientist, and a skeptic. She placed her hands on my chest, looking intensely into my eyes, her pupils dilated and she swallowed hard. A blush creeped into her cheeks, and I ran my hand over her left one, cupping it and holding her close. God did I want her. It felt so good to finally admit it to myself. I wanted her and she wanted me back. My inhibitions faded as I looked into her eyes, giving myself over to my cravings, my desires. I looked down, running my thumb over the little bit of exposed skin on her left hip, my fingers stroking it softly and I felt the goosebumps raise under my fingertips, “And I know I want you.” I said, my voice resolute. I swallowed, “I need you. Now.” I leaned down and kissed her lips firmly. I was soft at first, trying to control my eagerness and gauge what she wanted. Her hands wrapped around my neck, her fingers entwining my hair. I gripped her slender hips, feeling the bone press against her skin, sighing into the kiss as the sweatshirt creeped up and her stomach was exposed slightly. My hands wandered instinctively, pulling her closer. The heat inside me felt like I was going to explode, but I didn’t want to frighten her. I’d come this far and I could not ruin it now. 

I pushed aside my thoughts when her teeth nipped at my lower lip, and I deepened the kiss, taking it as a signal to continue. I grabbed her thighs and dropped her onto the counter, my hunger for her was taking over and I didn’t want to stop. My hands were desperately pulling her sweatshirt from her frame with haste. She helped me pull it off as our kissing became frantic, her fingers unbuttoning my shirt as I kissed her all over. Her neck, her shoulders, the top of her breasts that peeked over the lavender bra she wore. I met her lips again as she threw my shirt to the corner. I broke our kiss, breathing heavily and looking at her, admiring her body like I had never had before. I let out a breath, “You’re so beautiful,” I said, my eyes wandering up to meet hers. “How do I deserve something so beautiful?”I looked at her, incredulous. I had always believed I was destined to be alone. Love wasn’t meant for me to have. I’d convinced myself that love was something so uncontrollable and would lead to my ruin. She quickly wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me close, leaning her forehead against mine, pulling me out of my thoughts, “I love you,” She said, kissing my cheek, then kissing me firmly on the lips. Her legs wrapped around my waist and I moaned softly, she broke away quickly, “But you need to learn when to shut up,” She laughed and kissed me again, and I picked her up off of the counter, carrying her towards the master bedroom.


	7. I'm No Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're about to go way off canon folks! My Sherlolly muse has been whispering plot lines and new ideas in my ear all day, so I decided to go ahead and post chapter 7 tonight. Hopefully you'll like this little twist. ;)

MOLLY

Sherlock carried me into the bedroom and gently sat me down on the edge of the bed. He broke away from our kiss once I was seated, and our breathing was heavy and erratic as he stood between my legs that were still wrapped around his waist loosely. I swallowed hard and looked into his eyes. I had wanted this to happen so many times. I had my obsessive phase where I would guiltily think about scenarios in my head, daydreaming about things that I thought were completely unrealistic. Fantasizing how it would happen; almost as if Sherlock was some sort of movie star and I was the teenage girl with his poster on my wall. It was all so silly now, when I looked back. How naive I was when we first met; I could freely admit that to myself. I had put him on a pedestal and he proceeded to knock himself off of it every time he could, to prove to me how truly, unequivocally human he was. Sometimes I thought he wanted me to hate him, or at least become jaded and eventually, apathetic. Some of the things he’d said cut me deep; but I had a gut feeling that there was some other motive hiding behind the insensitive comments he flung at me from time to time. Now I knew I was right.

As if straight from my long forgotten daydreams, my legs were currently wrapped around a half-naked Sherlock Holmes, and he was looking down into my eyes with both admiration and raw desire. All of my insecurities rushed in for a fleeting moment. It felt like a dream; like I’d wake up if I pinched myself hard enough. I looked away as I retreated to those familiar thoughts. How in the world was he attracted to me? Plain, quiet, insignificant me. He ran his thumb gently across my left cheek bone, I sighed and looked up as his thumb traced along my cheek, then my lips. His touch was gentle and reassuring; like he knew what I was thinking. I thought back to that moment in the hallway, when he told me that I’d always counted. I had mulled over what happened that day so many times. At first, I couldn’t figure out how that could be so. Then I finally came to the realization that maybe, the people he needed most, those who were the most indispensable, he avoided showing the world how much they meant to him. I finally realized that’s how Sherlock kept me safe.

He kissed me again, leaning in slowly and somewhat timidly, his fingers cupping my chin lightly. I knew he was testing how far I wanted to go. I returned his kiss eagerly, pulling him towards me and onto the bed. He placed his arms out to brace himself against the bed, deepening our kiss, his tongue tangling and melding with mine. I felt the bulge against my thigh, his desire straining relentlessly against his slacks, begging for release. I was already wet with need, but feeling him next to me, with only layers of fabric between, made my heart go into overdrive. He began to move from my lips to my jawline, his kisses becoming softer as he breathed into my ear, sending shivers along my spine and my desire pooling between my legs. I gasped airily as he nipped at my ear and kissed down my neck, down my clavicle, and down the center of my chest. He was driving me crazy, and I was sure he knew it. He always knew exactly which buttons to push to get a reaction from me, and it was no different now. My breathing was ragged and uneven as his kisses reached right about my belly button. His fingers slid down my sides and towards my hips and he played with the edge of the sweatpants, when suddenly, I placed my hands instinctively on his, stopping his downward movement as a gripped his hands tightly.

_Dammit,_  I looked up towards the headboard, biting my lower lip and trying to avoid looking at him so he couldn’t see the shame in my face. I should have known that something would ruin this moment; in the throes of passion I had forgotten that my past would eventually come back to bite me. The pain and tragedy in my life was so conveniently hidden from the belly button down, and now I had to expose it.

He stopped his downward pursuit and looked up, his gaze questioning, trying to read my face which, I admit, was a mix of embarrassment, shame, and fear as my grip tightened on his hands. “I-- Sherlock…” I didn’t know how to explain what I was feeling, and why I was doing what I was doing. “Before you…. We do this,” I sighed heavily, “Molly it’s okay--” He said, his voice reassuring, his eyes concerned. Before he could continue, I stopped him, “I just need to warn you.” I blurted out, my gaze serious. He scoffed “Molly, I hardly think--” but I shook my head and placed my hand lightly on his lips, “Just listen.” I said, somewhat sternly, and he became serious again, “There are things about me you don’t know yet.” I swallowed hard, trying to gather my thoughts and slow my heart rate so I could figure out how to explain my past as tenderly as possible.

Sherlock always saw me as pure, sweet, untainted, and I was. At least, I tried to be. But little did he know how dark and unfortunate my upbringing was. “I never thought we’d get to this.” I said, smiling wryly, my heart sinking, “ But you’ll understand more about me if I show you,” His brow furrowed, perplexed as I put my hands on his and slowly shimmied out of my sweatpants. He stared incredulously as I laid before him in nothing but my lavender bra and thong. At first I felt like one of the bodies on the slab in the morgue when his gaze turned studious. The redness from embarrassment began to rush into my cheeks, but then his gaze turned from purely studious to admiration as he examined what I had successfully hidden for most of my life. I guess it was a work of art in a way; my own suffering practically written on my skin. His eyes were first drawn to the ugly, jagged scar a few inches below my hip bone, which only peaked out a few inches, because it was mostly covered by a black ink outline of a rose. The tattoo had faded somewhat, the thick edges on the outside blurring slightly. His fingers traced over it delicately, and I shuddered, remembering the pain. He stopped, looking to me for an explanation. “The scar is from when I was twelve,” I started, “My dad…. he erm... had a problem with alcohol,” I said, my fingers tracing along the scar absentmindedly. I wished I had warned him sooner, maybe if I had, it wouldn’t be so hard or awkward. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a shock. “ I was in the way of the bottle when he shoved me a little too hard one night,” I smiled sadly, my eyes looked away as I remembered that night. Once he sobered up he felt terrible, but I was the one who had to still live with the reminder.

“And the rose,” I said, my voice shaking, “I tried to cover the scar with something,” I started, “I was eighteen and I had moved away from home, started university, and getting a tattoo was how I expressed my angst I guess,” I laughed, but there was no mirth in my laugh. I suddenly felt so hollow, like I was emptying myself of the all pain and anger I had felt for so long, and I didn’t know what to replace it with, ”I got a rose because…. well my mum…. she used to have a garden full of them. She was always happiest when she was in the garden, surrounded by roses, and that’s how I like to remember her,” I stopped. The the rest of the story was hard; so very hard. A single tear escaped my eye, even though I was trying to swallow them back. I wanted to swallow the sadness back into my chest, put it away from view. But I looked up at Sherlock, who was sitting quietly on his heels, watching me wrangle with my emotions. I knew he didn’t know what to say, he was wrestling with his own feelings and thoughts and trying to comprehend mine. I realized that this was a lot for him. I pitied him, for someone so keen on avoiding emotion, Sherlock was getting a heaping dose within twenty-four hours, all because of me.

“What happened Molly?” Sherlock finally interrupted my thoughts, his words slow and calculated. I placed my hand on his face, caressing his cheek with my thumb, he smiled sadly, but it gave me encouragement to continue, “I watched my mother unravel slowly after my thirteenth birthday. She tried to keep her mental illness hidden, but eventually, she had to be committed.” I sighed, “Major depressive disorder with fits of paranoia. With all the medication, she doesn’t even recognize me anymore.” The tears flowed now, down my cheeks and onto the bed, I felt them drop off my jaw, not moving to wipe them away, “And those,” I said, my voice strained, running my fingers along the raised scars lined horizontally on both thighs, high enough where no one would notice, “Those were from age thirteen to seventeen.” I said, looking on my scars with contempt, “Depression, self-loathing, and so, self-mutilation,” I said, tracing them, my voice turning hard and matter-of-fact, “No one ever noticed these. I kept that secret well hidden. When my dad died and mum was committed, I assumed I belonged right along with her… or him,” I stopped, trying to gauge how he was taking these new revelations. He swallowed hard, his lips a thin, taut line, “I tried to numb everything... when I had the realization that I might have no choice in the matter, that I might just end up one room away from mom, no matter how hard I tried to fight it. But I couldn’t live life that way, so I’ve continued to fight on and make my life count, if only in some small way,” I finished, “I know you have demons, Sherlock. I’ve watched you battle them and I’ve seen you struggle. But you’re not alone. I’m no angel, my scars are just as deep, my demons just as tormenting.” I paused, looking into his eyes, trying to read what he was thinking. He was quiet, as if trying to understand what he had just heard. The silence was thick and I laid there, feeling hollow and completely vulnerable, hoping that I hadn't made a mistake.  _God please, please don’t run._


	8. An Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long hiatus. So glad to be back!!!

SHERLOCK 

I had to admit, before I knocked on Molly’s door that morning, I knew there were at least three possible alternatives as to how the interaction would play out, and I had mentally prepared for each of them. One: Molly would refuse to let me explain, and refuse to let me through the door. I found this scenario highly unlikely because, well, Molly was curious, above everything else. She must be curious as to why I said the things I said, and I knew if she did turn me away, eventually she would need to know what had motivated my actions. Two: Molly would allow me to enter her flat, yell at me but listen to my story, refuse to believe it, and abruptly put me back out in the hallway with a few, well chosen, venomous words and slam the door. Three: Well scenario three was, thankfully, very similar to the actual outcome. Though I could not say I expected to end up in Molly’s bedroom, both of us removing our clothes hastily along the way. That was not planned nor anticipated, and I loved it.

Anyone who knew anything about me knew that I was completely obtuse. I wouldn’t describe myself that way, but it’s been said one too many times, and I had come to accept it. Obtuse was the nice way to put what so many considered me; most felt I had somehow completely rid myself of human emotion, and I did not play well with others. I was convinced that I could push aside my human emotions and follow pure logic and reason. If I followed any deity, it would be reason and logic above all else. I took pride in what I considered a big “fuck you” to the powers that be. I had always known that emotions clouded one’s judgment and reasoning, almost like looking through another lens, and that lens was usually rose-colored. I had obstinately refused to let my reasoning process be subject to it. 

However, as time passed, I inevitably developed friendships. I assumed that, sooner or later, someone would be insane enough to stick around. John was one of the first, and Molly and Mary. However, they were useful. I only saw them in a strictly pragmatic way. They were tools to be utilized, and also, another tolerable flatmate to pay the rent. Of course, I never expected becoming emotionally attached. I thought I could distance myself by being callous or rude or condescending. But those years of solitude must have taken a toll on me. Because here I was, half naked, gazing at a woman I truly admired and loved, the complete antithesis of what I had ever imagined.

When she pulled away from me, at first I was concerned. The normal, reasonable, and overwhelmingly doubtful thoughts rushed into my head, no longer pushed out by more carnal desires. Maybe I was moving too fast? Did I do something wrong? I wanted to handle Molly with the utmost care. I had just put her through emotional hell and I needed to make up for it, but I wasn’t sure if this was what she wanted. Maybe I had misread the situation, as was a habit of mine. Molly blushed deeply, biting her lower lip and holding my hands, of which the fingertips lay on the waistband of her sweatpants, in a death grip, her knuckles white. Was there something I didn’t know? I tried to will her to look at me, but I said nothing. The air was thick with whatever was unsaid between us.  
“I-- Sherlock…” She started, her eyes still avoiding mine and she paused, looking for words. What words? What was she avoiding?  
“Before you…. We do this,” she began, but nervously I tried to reassure her, rubbing my thumbs over her knuckles, “Molly, it’s okay---” but before I could get another word out, she stopped me, “I just need to warn you.”  
I gave her a small smile. I’d been with a woman before, but many believed I hadn’t. There wasn’t anything she needed to warn me about. Although if there was something drastic like a piercing down there…. “Molly I hardly think--” but she shook her head quickly and put her hand over my mouth. I got the cue to shut up and listen.  
“There are things about me you don’t know yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How does one begin to overcome a misconception about someone. In fact, a number of misconceptions which you probably should have noticed? As the self proclaimed master of deduction, I should have noticed. Why didn’t I notice? Molly literally bared her body and her troubled past simultaneously, both of which she had kept well hidden from me for years. I sat back on my heels, my fingers delicately trailing along her side down to her hips and up again, my mind running frantically as to how to approach the situation. If you asked me what I thought of Molly Hooper, initially at least, I know what I would have said, well what anyone would say. That she is sweet and caring, slightly awkward and definitely innocent. I’d add naive to the list as well. People walked all over her (myself included). I usually never let assumptions about a person rule my deductions, but never in a million years would I have found out the information she had just revealed to me now. My initial thought was how Molly Hooper had so expertly kept this information hidden from my observation, and I was proud of her. The only woman who’d not only kept me in the dark, but for years. Oddly, It made me love her even more. 

However, it did shatter my predilections about Molly. But instead of shying away, I wanted to know more. But it felt like an emotional dam had burst and I had to clean up the mess and I wasn’t sure how. I met her eyes again. Those amber brown orbs were filled with anticipation and worry, her lips drawn tight as she waited for my reaction. I smiled, leaned over her, and pressed my lips to her forehead. I slowly rolled over onto my side, stroking the side of her cheek as I propped up on my right elbow.

“You know Molly.... Ah, this is going to sound awful, and you know how I am with these things,” I said, my eyes dropping to observe the pattern on the quilted bed. “There’s a lot going through my mind right now, more than ever, it really is hard to… explain… I’m trying,” I stuttered out. God, I sounded like a fool. I finally met her eyes again, and she gave me a small, knowing half smile. I let out the slow, long breath I didn’t know I was holding, smiling back. “ … I find it incredibly sexy and alluring that you were able to keep this information hidden from me for years,” I blurted out. Looking shocked as I said those words. She smiled and laughed loudly, a wide smile on her lips. “Only you, Mr. Holmes, would say such a thing.” I joined in her laughter for a moment, slowly pushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes.  
“But you should know that, you become more remarkable the more I get to know you.” I leaned in and kissed her lips gently, pulling back a few inches, “And I want to know everything.”  
We laid there for hours, Molly and I. Laughing at each other’s stories, arguing about silly things, and lying around in our underwear. I pulled her close to my chest when I saw her eyes drooping, pulling the blanket over us both as we succumbed to sleep. Her hair smelled of lavender and as her breathing became shallow, I allowed myself to succumb to sleep once more.


	9. A New Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while my lovely readers! I'm back for good. Sort of. This is kind of a fill in chapter, but there's a few twists. Chapter 10 will be oodles more fun I assure you. ;)

MOLLY

 

The alarm clock wailed loudly on the side table, stirring my mind from slumber. It begged for my attention as I groaned, turning the setting to “off” and quickly shoving my hand back under the warm covers.

That’s when I felt his eyes on me. I had almost forgotten Sherlock and I had laid awake late last night, talking and joking, until we fell asleep together in my bed. It still seemed like a dream; crazy dream that I had to wake up from. But I felt the heat of his body emanating from the other side of the bed that had lain cold for so long, and it felt good. I smiled slowly, sighing in contentment. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s not polite to stare,” I flipped over to a sleepy-eyed, smiling Sherlock.

His hands were tangled around the sheets and he looked almost childlike, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Ah she did, but it never actually stuck.” He said in a sing song way, and chuckled,“When have you ever known me to be polite Molly? I try to avoid politeness. Frankness does the trick quite well. People love me for my frankness,” I rolled my eyes and was about to retort when he pressed his lips against mine grabbing the back of my head and pulling me close and fast to him. He deepened the kiss, nipping at my lower lip and I moaned on instinct as I felt the heat pooling in my lower abdomen. _Good God, he’s a good kisser._  I broke away hesitantly, feeling dizzy and sighing deeply, stroking his face tenderly. I recognized the need in his blue eyes. The need for more that had been tamed during their deep conversation about her troubled past last night. I was about to give in to that mutual need when my phone rang. I sighed heavily, my eyes not leaving his, feeling terrible that something always came between chasing the release we both wanted.

I kissed his forehead and flipped over, sitting on the edge of the bed as my phone continued to ring endlessly. Sherlock sat up and cradled me against him, my petite frame fitting between his long legs, raining kisses on my shoulder. “That’s not fair,” I whispered teasingly as I checked my phone. “Lestraude, Greg” was the name on the caller ID. Sherlocks kisses halted, no doubt suspicious because he’d never known that Lestraude and I were on a first name basis. I patted his leg reassuringly and slid the call to answer, “Good morning Greg,” I said calmly, “I was… just about to grab a shower and head to Saint Bart’s, is something wrong?” I asked, wiping my eyes from the sleep.

“Hey, Molly, yeah listen…. I need to get you in here as soon as possible,”He started, “Two bodies came in this morning. A man and a woman. I need an autopsy done quickly,”He paused, sounding nervous. “Why the rush?” I asked, curious as to the need for a rush autopsy, “Well, there were two bodies found in a honeymoon suite by a maid this morning. They had just gotten married the day before. Their rings were removed, and we aren’t sure of the cause of death, but some sort of sharp instrument through the heart, removed shortly after. It has yet to be found.” He waited for my response.

“Sherlock should be there too, don’t you think?” I blurted out, covering my mouth as I looked at Sherlock wide-eyed. No one knew about where he was or that we were even on speaking terms. Hopefully Lestraude wouldn’t put two and two together. “Why would you want him here? I thought you two had a falling out?”Lestraude paused, and sighed, >“Is he there now?” he asked, his voice sounded deflated. Little did Sherlock know, Greg Lestraude had recently, and finally, ended his troubled marriage once and for all. I had consoled him through it, as I usually ended up doing to any of my friends going through a break up. But then he showed up last week with a bouquet of flowers, and then awkwardly proceeded to ask if he could take me to dinner. I politely refused. I wasn’t ready for more heartbreak, but I didn’t tell him that. I was flattered, I really was. Greg was a good man, and I told him as much. But I also told him I needed time. “There’s a lot going on right now, Greg” I told him, “And we both know I’m emotionally tired, just like you.” I kissed him on the corner of his mouth and hugged him gently. “Let’s take this slow.” I rubbed his shoulders, and he nodded, smiling tightly, understanding our predicament.

And now I was half naked with Sherlock next to me, who was the main reason why I was emotionally exhausted in the first place. I let the question hang for a second, the panic halting my intake of air mid-breath. “Er no…. I just thought he’d be put on the case… you know… since it seems like it’s already gotten complicated,” I closed my eyes and hoped Greg wouldn’t pry further. This must be so frustrating for him, and it was definitely embarrassing for me. My cheeks must have been as red as a beet to the onlooking Sherlock. “Just…. Get here as quick as you can,” Lestraude finished, his voice betraying the hurt and tinge of disappointment I heard the phone go silent and the line go dead without so much as a goodbye. I sighed, pulling the phone away from my ear.

I looked to my left, where Sherlock sat on the edge of my bed, one foot underneath him and one dangling off the edge of the bed. “So…. what was that about?” He asked, a tinge of a smirk on his face. "Oh let me guess, Greg has feelings for you? And you’ve turned him down?” My mouth dropped open instinctively, then I snapped it shut quickly. Sherlock could read people like a front page headline. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he was so keen to read my reaction to the conversation with Greg, but how would he know how Lestraude felt about me? Greg wasn’t known for showing much of any emotion at all.

“Uhm… yes. Well, it was unintentional, I think,” I backpedaled, hoping Sherlock would not get angry over something that I saw as merely trivial. “I helped him cope with the divorce. I think his affections are misdirected.” I said quickly, feeling, for some reason, like I had been caught with my hand stuck in the cookie jar, my eyes averting his. Sherlock chuckled, pulling me into his lap and kissing me quickly on the lips, "Don’t fret, Molly. Poor Greg can’t hold a candle to me. Poor chap.” He said teasingly. I rolled my eyes and laughed,  slapping him on the shoulder and leaning back against his chest to kiss him on the jaw, “You are so full of yourself. Someone should try to knock you down a peg or two. But he needs me, so I’ll hop in the shower and be on my way,” I said, looking at his pulse point, kissing it gently, breathing the remnants of his aftershave. He swallowed nervously, and I smiled as I leaned against his neck. ”We’ll talk later. Your apartment is still in shambles, so I guess you can stay with me if you’d like.” I said, slipping from his grip reluctantly. “Molly, wait.” He said, holding onto my hand before I could completely pull away from him. He stood and pulled me close, his eyes dark with lust but also with seriousness "I love you.”He kissed me on the nose, then down my jaw. My heart raced as his kisses trailed down to my breasts, but stopped there. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. If only I didn't have to leave.

"Let me know what happens. At Bart’s. I’ll be over after I see John and Mrs. Hudson." He kissed my neck quickly, turned me around and slapped my buttocks as I walked away. I turned and gave him a fake stern look, to which he shrugged and smiled as I disappeared into the bathroom.


	10. Rebuilding from the Rubble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

SHERLOCK

Clothes freshly laundered, showered and face shaven, I kissed Molly goodbye the next morning and took a cab to check on Mrs. Hudson, and then John. Since 221B was demolished due to an unexpected bomb from dear little sister, I wanted to make sure Mrs. Hudson wasn’t too shaken up, and see what might be salvageable from the rubble. I looked up at the charred hole that was my flat, and sighed heavily. Stepping out onto the street, I paid the cabbie and rolled up my shirtsleeves to face Mrs. Hudson, who would either be very happy to see me or furious, and preparing myself for combing through the demolished flat. I walked quietly over to Mrs. Hudson’s door, rapping twice before she opened the door suddenly.

“Well there you are! Look! John is already here.” She said, stepping back as John gave a small, questioning smile and a slight nod over his newspaper. He had come prepared to dive into the work ahead, wearing an old white v neck t-shirt and jeans. Just as I stepped through the doorway, Mrs. Hudson wrapped her arms around my waist in a fierce hug, since my waist was about all the tiny woman could reach. I threw my arms up in surprise, looking at John who was smiling over his cup of tea as I put my arms gently around her, patting her back gently.

“Oh Sherlock! John told me what happened and how you two made sure I would be safe after that nasty business with your little sister.” She said, pulling back from her awkward death grip hug with a few tears welling in her eyes, “My two Baker Street boys. I’ve never met a pair like you.” She wiped the tears from her eyes quickly and shuffled over to John, pouring a cup of tea for me without asking.

I approached the table slowly, looking at John to gauge whether we were in hot water. John avoided my gaze, which was annoyingly unhelpful. “Well Mrs. Hudson, it seems your flat is still in.. uh… stable condition,” I commented, sitting down and staring into my cup of tea. John studied the inside of his mug as well, not saying a word. She’d probably want to kick us out this time. She’d been more than amiable with my violin concertos at 3:00 in the morning, or the severed head in the freezer, but demolishing her flat and a portion of her income property, she might not be so forgiving. Mrs. Hudson sat back in her chair, sighing and crossed her arms and looked at us both sternly in turn, “Boys, you know I love you like my family. But that--,” She said, pointing upstairs “--Makes me want to turn you both out.”

We sat there in silence for minutes as she decided what our fate should be. “I’ve decided.” She said, patting her hands on the table with finality and standing up. We looked up at her, like two children about to be scolded,“I’ll allow you to stay…. But I have conditions.” She started. We sighed heavily, letting the tension seep out of the room with our exhales. “First, you both will fix 221B, and make it look exactly like it was before your little sister pitched her tantrum,” She said, looking sternly at me, “And then, you’re to renovate 221C and make it so I can rent the space out, got it?" I started to object because I wasn’t handy with tools and manual labor is not my forte, but she stopped me with a hand in my face, “Those are the conditions, Sherlock. Take it or leave it.”

I sighed and looked at John, who looked back at me. We nodded simultaneously, “We’ll accept the conditions, Mrs. Hudson,” I said, smiling up at her. “Good! I was hoping you would. I really didn’t want to have to find new renters, such a hassle,” She winked and smiled and walked into the back of the flat, apparently allowing John and I to talk privately.

“So…” John started, is voice low, a smug grin spread across his face and his finger tracing the rim of the cup, “ I thought I’d wake up to you snoring on my couch. I was pleasantly surprised you weren’t.” I knew he would ask about Molly. I knew he wanted to know everything. He was as bad as an old woman, wanting to know all the gossip. “It went well I take it,” His smile met his eyes, and I rolled my eyes. “John....” I said, but a telling smirk spread across my face. “So it _did_ go well…. _How_ well did it… go?” John started, trying to pry information out of me like he always did.

“Well… there was a…. significant reconciliation.” I started. This was harder than expected. My palms started to sweat, and upon noticing I tucked them silently into my lap. Didn’t John know I wasn’t supposed to kiss and tell? “....Significant reconciliation” John nodded, then laughed, shaking his head,“Sherlock you can do better than that. You sound exactly like Mycroft,” He jested, taking a sip of tea, to which I let out a groan and put my forehead in my hands. “So many emotions and so much sharing, how do normal people deal with this all the time?” I heard shuffling in the other room, which meant that Mrs. Hudson was attempting to eavesdrop unsuccessfully. “Mrs. Hudson, I can hear you,” I called out and the shuffling stopped. John stifled a laugh as I gave him a stern look, to which he averted my gaze back to his paper. “You might as well quit pretending you’re busy Mrs. Hudson; cleaning day was yesterday and vacuuming is tomorrow.” I called out towards the back of the flat again. There was silence, then Mrs. Hudson slowly made her way into the kitchen her eyes twinkling mischievously, and a hardly concealed grin on her face. I stood to give her my chair, which she took, sipping on the tea she allegedly made for me, and I started to shift from foot to foot leaning against the countertop opposite the tiny table. They both stared at me in anticipation. This was worse than anything I could have ever imagined. Talking about feelings, getting caught up in emotions, becoming antsy...

“Oh get on with it!”They both said in unison, their words breaking my chain of thought. I sighed heavily, “You two….” I said, shaking my head. “Fine. I went to Molly’s flat after leaving John here at Baker Street. I knocked on the door, begged her to let me in. At first, she refused -”

“That’s my girl.” Mrs. Hudson interrupted, then covered her mouth, giggled and motioned for me to continue. I raised my eyebrows, but smiled and continued, “Finally I got through the door. We walked into her living area, sat down. I explained everything.” I looked at John, whose smile had dimmed slightly, knowing how hard all of this was for me, “...and I told her that I did, truly, love her.” I sighed heavily. I thought back to that moment, when she ended up cradled in my arms. After everything I had put her through, she still wanted me. After all the crass remarks and distancing myself emotionally, she still ended up by my side.

“That’s not all is it?” John asked, leaning on his knuckles with a smug smile on his face, and I gave him a stern look, “I don’t kiss and tell John. Molly and I have made amends. More than amends really….” I trailed off, the both waited on bated breath for me to continue, “But I’m not telling you everything. We’re happy…. I’m happy.” I said, almost shocked I was saying it. A small smile spread across my face I had been holding in.

“Oh Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson suddenly jumped up, “I always knew you were sweet on her, I’d hoped for the best when you two had that falling out…” Tears welled in her eyes and she turned away quickly to wipe them away. Of all of the people I chose to call friends and to keep close, Mrs. Hudson had always looked out for me, even when I didn’t want her to. Once I threw a vase against the wall screaming for her to leave me in peace. She continued on as if nothing had happened, and I’d find the vase cleaned up, replaced and flowers sitting in it the next day. She was a remarkable woman, and no stranger to a temper in a man. Her late husband had one, or so she would tell me. It was this that made my attempts at restraint necessary. There was a reason why I assisted in assuring the late Mr. Hudson’s death sentence; he had become a violent monster, and I didn’t want to see her hurt anymore.

I brought her close this time, hugging her and kissing her head lightly, “Oh Mrs. Hudson, you are a saint.” I said, looking at John, who smiled back at me and winked. “Now, I have a date with the morgue,” I said, nodding to John and giving him a ‘we’ll talk later’ look over Mrs. Hudson’s head. I let her go and she smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “Go on, you sap!”She said, pushing me into the entrance way as I quickly waved at John and stepped out onto the street. I heard John call out, “So I guess I’ll get started without you!” As Mrs. Hudson smiled and shut the door.


	11. Now That I Have Your Attention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys. Kind of a quick chapter but more will be revealed in time. These next two months are going to be tough for me. So not many chapters will be posted (if at all). As always, I hope you enjoy it! It was a fun one to write.

SHERLOCK 

The next stop was Saint Bartholomew’s. I hated leaving Mrs. Hudson so quickly, but I had this gut feeling that something wasn’t right. Plus, John was more suited for hard labor anyway. Thoughts began to buzz in the back of my brain, like an annoying bug trying to prick into my consciousness. I tried to ignore my intuition, but I knew the tension in Lestraude’s voice was more than mere irritation at the thought of Molly and I’s reconciliation. Something else was amiss; Lestraude had fear in his voice. 

Whenever I worked on a case with Lestraude, everything was handled matter-of-factly. Suicide, robbery, murder, and any combination thereof. He would drone on about the facts as if it was nothing. He always presented himself as calm, collected, and puzzled, hence the need of my special services. Nothing had ever rattled the inspector; I chalked it up to years with London’s “finest”. So when I heard the fear creep into his tone during the call with Molly, coupled with the request for a rush autopsy, it didn’t sit well. I knew it wasn’t because he was worried about me. I began to worry I wasn’t the only one in danger anymore. John and I were usually the targets of any criminals wishing to get rid of a real threat, but I had a feeling I had just accidentally added a third. 

The familiar odor of formaldehyde and sterilization met my nose as I pushed open the double doors to the morgue. Lestraude and Molly seemed tense, each standing away from each other, faces drawn tight to mask their true feelings. No doubt discussing my sudden reappearance in Molly’s life. I nodded at them both in turn, and Molly began to quickly pull on her latex gloves.  
I noticed a slight tremor in the act. Nervousness? Very unlikely. Molly was never nervous when it came to her job. She was always self-assured. Or possibly fear? My brow furrowed and I looked over to Lestraude for a better assessment of the situation. His hands were clasped in front; the crumpled shirt he wore was half untucked and he shifted impatiently from foot to foot. What was so strange about this case? What did he tell Molly that made her afraid? 

Molly pulled out the first body, unzipped the bag and rolled it over on the slab for inspection. My eyes widened in disbelief and Molly gasped, her hand clasping her mouth.  
“Oddly familiar,” I remarked, breaking the awkward silence. Same height and build, curly dark hair, lanky, “Am I supposed to be flattered?” I said, not really coming to terms with the apparent doppelganger lying on the slab in front of me. The resemblance was uncanny; the killer must have taken great pains to find someone so close in aesthetics to my own. But why?  
“Have we identified him yet?” I asked, swallowing, my eyes never leaving the look-alike, my fingers tapping on the slab methodically. The wheels began churning in my head as to who the possible culprit could be.   
“Dental records aren’t back yet, but he and his wife checked in late in the evening yesterday. Honeymoon suite the hotel said. They checked in under the names of Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Smith. We think it might be an alias, but the detectives are combing the suite now for any other identification.” Lestraude reported calmly, looking between Molly and I as he spoke. Molly was silent. Her face showed no emotion but was void of color. She stared at my look-alike on the table, her eyes not leaving the deceased man’s face. 

“Erm, any word on the cause of death?” I looked at her reassuringly, trying to pry her from her thoughts. She nodded quickly, reciting her analysis dryly, “The wound here on the left side of the chest. The chest cavity was pierced by something sharp, like an arrow or spear, but cauterized instantly.” She said, her fingers pointing out the flesh around the wound as an example. “The actual cause of death was asphyxiation by poison. Of what, I can’t be sure. But I know both of these people were alive for some time after this was made. Whoever killed them wanted them to suffer before the poison took hold.” She swallowed and looked at me, her brow furrowed with worry. 

“Sherlock…” Lestraude interrupted and we both turned back to the inspector. “A word?” I noticed his jaw clench and unclench, his eyes narrowed but stared seemingly at nothing. “Lestraude, we have to finish…” I began, but he interrupted, “--Now Sherlock.” His voice was loud, stern and demanding. I looked at Molly with surprise as I followed the now quickly moving inspector out beyond the double doors. 

Suddenly he turned and swung a left hook into my jaw, making impact easily. I staggered back, blinking through the pain and buzzing in my head. I tasted the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. “OW!” I shouted, thought it was already muffled through my quickly swelling lip. “What the hell, Greg!” I wiped the corner of my bleeding mouth, shaking my head in disbelief. 

“That was for me and Molly, because she should have done it herself.” He growled, shaking his left hand out from the impact. “You better treat her right Sherlock. She deserves better than how I’ve sat back and watched you treat her this last few years,” He huffed, breathing heavy through the obvious pain in his left hand, “You know who the next body is going to resemble,” He sighed, looking at me helplessly. Lestraude confirmed my suspicions. But how would the killer know about Molly and I? He or she would have had to be watching closely for some time.  
“She’s going to need you to be there, Sherlock. To really be there for her.” He finished, “I know Greg,” I said, sighing at the predicament we were in. “I will protect her, you have my word. And you’re right, I don’t deserve her. She is... like a dream… I'd never imagined falling for anyone....” I said simply, he nodded as we walked back towards the morgue. We pushed the doors open together, and Molly dropped the plate of instruments once she put two-and two together.  
“What in the hell?!?!” She said, running up to me. Her fingers traced lightly over the swelling and I winced. She looked over at Greg who was still nursing his hand. “Dammit both of you!” She cursed, “This is not helping anything.” She looked at both of us sternly. “Now, let’s roll out the other,” She sighed, methodically putting her gloves back on, obviously shaken from everything going on. I kept watching Greg and Molly as she slid the body bag out. His eyes closed as she unzipped the bag. “N--no… Sherlock I…. we..” she stumbled back and I caught her under her arms before she hit the floor. Her eyes never left the bag. Her complexion was pale and I knew she must be going into some sort of shock. “Molly,” I said calmly, trying to keep her focused, “Come on we have to keep you alert.” I said, standing her against the other slab, she leaned heavily against it, shaking her head slowly and blinking rapidly. Her eyes met mine with sheer terror and helplessness. I unzipped the bag and stood back.  
As Greg predicted, it was indeed a doppelganger of Molly. However, this body was in full bridal attire, veil and all. “S--she wasn’t like that when we found her,” Greg stuttered, in awe at how someone could manage pulling this off. He walked quickly up to the bag, scanning the body in disbelief. “She was in a bathrobe…. No one has been here since… how?” He stuttered. I scanned the body. Intricate stitching, high end bridal gown tag, and…  
“A note.” I said, sliding on one glove and unpinning the piece of paper from the lace near the cadaver’s breast. I opened it gently, and in scrawling Olde English, cleverly typed to avoid handprint analysis, I read the message out loud, “Molly, now that I have your attention,” I looked up at Molly, confusion in my eyes, then read on, “You are cordially invited to my dinner party. Do please bring Sherlock with you. Your attire will be delivered to your flat shortly, with special directions for our next rendezvous.” I stopped, puzzled, “If you decline to attend, more bodies will be delivered to your morgue, courtesy of an old friend. As always, I remain entirely yours, P.N.V.”


	12. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long break! Life got in the way. But I'm back with this next chapter. It's very long, to make up for a long absence. Lots of dialogue as well. If any of you want to know who Dr. Voor's character is supposed to look like, Aidan Gillen was my inspiration. :) Enjoy!

“Come on we need to keep you alert.” Sherlock's words seemed to echo from some place far away, even though I could see his worry-filled face clearly. My eyes didn't leave the woman lying on the slab, her skin was as white at the dress she was clothed in. She looked exactly like me, and in a bridal gown suited to my tastes, no less. _This woman died because of me._ My stomach turned, and I took a deep breath, to avoid fainting or wretching all over the floor. I looked down at my hands gripping tightly to the slab for support, my mind unwilling to compute what all of this meant. I knew that eventually the realization would hit me like a train, but I wanted to stay in this state of stupor until reality forced me to reckon with my past.

Sherlock barked something to Lestraude, who shouted back and grumbled under his breath, walking briskly through the double doors without another word. I closed my eyes, feeling the room spinning. I hated the mess I’d inadvertently created between Lestraude and Sherlock. No doubt it would cause their work relationship a great deal of strain. Sherlock turned back to me, his expressions growing soft, his index finger ran down the side of my face as he tried to bring me out of my thoughts.  
  
I sighed heavily, finally meeting his gaze. His blue eyes searched mine, looking for some kind of explanation to what all of this meant. If only it was a simple one. “Take me home….please,” I muttered, my voice sounded harsh and ragged, like it wasn't my own. He swung me into his arms and carried me through Saint Bart's. I tried to mumble protestations, but he ignored me completely, his stride was long but hurried as he carried me out into the dreary morning. We were no doubt catching many eyes as he brought me out onto the street, hailing a cab fairly quickly and stuffing me inside like I weighed nothing. I felt the cool satin of the inside of his coat slip over my body. It covered me completely and I breathed in the smell of Sherlock’s cologne, feeling safer instantly. I heard the cab door open and close quickly, and Sherlock mumbled the coordinates to the cabbie, who slowly drove into the flow of traffic.

We sat there quietly for what seemed like hours. The silence was stifling, more for Sherlock than for myself, I was sure. Sherlock was no doubt waiting for my explanation, and itching to solve the problem. He looked out the window, repositioning himself often, rubbing his eyes and looking over at me with worry. “Sherlock,” I started, and he jumped, leaning in close when he heard my voice break. “You shouldn’t….. You shouldn’t have carried me out like that.” I started, swallowing hard, trying to fight the dryness in my mouth, “People will start talking.” I sat up and leaned against the back of the seat, slowly regaining my strength.

“Molly, you of all people know I don’t give damn what other people think about our relationship, professional or otherwise.” He started, propping his head up against the glass.“Lestraude went to check the surveillance cameras for the time between your coming and going, but I’m fairly certain none of employees at Saint Bart’s planted two doppelgangers in your morgue. Which means attempting to identify who did,” He sighed, combing his fingers through his hair hurriedly. I clasped his hand, covering it in both of my own. I kissed his knuckles reassuringly, “I’ll tell you what I know, but not here.” I whispered, and he nodded in agreement. He pulled me close to his chest with one arm, the other stroking my hair calmly until we arrived at my flat. Sherlock paid quickly, got out and opened my door, and I slid out of the seat and proceeded to walk hurriedly towards the door to the lobby.

We made our way up the stairs quickly, Sherlock following behind me protectively, and I stopped as I eyed the packages laid neatly on my doorstep. My stomach turned as I walked over slowly. I picked up the off white, thick paper which was folded and set neatly on the packages. “As promised... “ This time in thick cursive handwriting. There was no need for him to hide anymore. 

Two black garment bags hung from what appeared to be a hotel luggage cart, and a bag and two packages tied in red ribbon sat neatly on the bottom. I quickly opened the door, my hands shaking as I finally got the deadlock to turn. “Molly, is there surveillance in this corridor?" Sherlock asked, looking for cameras, “We could-" He started, but I interrupted, “He wouldn’t deliver those personally; he’s much too clever for that.” Sherlock stopped, looking at me, puzzled. No doubt he already knew this whole mystery revolved around me.

“He?” He asked, his eyes narrowed, his body instinctively growing tense. I grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, dead bolting the lock back behind us. I paused at the door, thinking about how foolish I was to believe I could get away from my past practically unscathed. “Yes. He.” I sighed, turning around to glance back at Sherlock. I side-stepped the luggage cart, walking towards the kitchen, and I heard Sherlock following closely.

I leaned against the countertop, and he leaned against the other side, “Peter Nathaniel Voor. Dr. Peter Nathaniel Voor.” I started, “That’s who killed those people.” Sherlock looked puzzled, “I thought Peter Voor committed suicide.” He started, his mind already churning with thoughts, “So did I.” I retorted. I moved towards the freezer silently, Quickly wrapping some cold peas in a cloth and placing it gently on Sherlock’s bruised jaw, to which he winced. “Sorry, but we need to get the swelling down,” He offered a tight lipped grimace in response as I wiped away the rest of the blood now dried from Lestraude’s surprise punch.

“Molly, how… how do you know him?” Sherlock asked reluctantly. “Dr. Voor was my criminalistics and criminal psychology professor at Cambridge.” I sighed, biting my lower lip. I laughed sardonically,“ It was my first year. I’d heard his course was rigorous; no one could recall anyone who had good things to say about Dr. Voor. Unfortunately, our class was assigned to him to instruct us in the fundamentals of criminalistics.” I remembered it well. Everyone wished us condolences and all of us prepared rigorously for the first day of class. We all felt as if we would meet our doom come the first day. “Dr. Voor was, at that time, a well known scholar of criminalistics and criminal behavior. To say we were all intimidated was an understatement. Further, all of the other young women talked about his Irish accent, salt and pepper hair, and how he wasn’t married, nor ever had been, and the rumors why. The only thing other professors would say when asked about Dr. Voor was he was a lone wolf. Collaboration was appalling to him, and he preferred to avoid other faculty, and even students.”

“At first, it seemed like a normal, first year class. I was paid no extra attention nor did I want it. I would come to class prepared, was rarely called on to answer questions, but other than the occasional praise from other students, Dr. Voor showed indifference towards me.”

“Midterms came and went, and everyone seemed distraught by their scores once posted. I never disclosed to anyone that I had received a remarkably high score. I few days after the scores were posted, Dr. Voor asked to speak to me after class. I dared not refuse, and once the class had filtered out, we discussed my grade and my potential in the field of criminalistics.” My eyes drifted away from his for the first time. It was uncanny, now that I thought about it, how Sherlock and Peter were similar. Distant, removed, unduly harsh at times. Remarkably brilliant. I shook my head, “He asked me to be his research assistant, and I hesitantly agreed. Once word got around that Dr. Voor had a female research assistant, which had never happened before, rumors spread. Regardless, this meant many late nights and long days working closely with Peter. At first it was simple research tasks, almost as if he was testing me and my abilities. But every time he evaluated my work, he would smile and remark on how impressed he was.”

I put the peas back in the freezer, and laid the towel on the edge of the sink, I looked out the window. This was a conversation I’d hoped I’d never have, and I part of my life I didn’t want to revisit. “Do you remember what I was like when we first met?” I said, looking over my shoulder at Sherlock, who still leaned against the countertop, watching me closely. He nodded slowly. “Well, imagine a younger, much more naive version.” I said, a smile tugged at my lips, but quickly vanished. “It was simple things I wish I had noticed sooner. Personal phone numbers were exchanged. If we stayed late, he’d invite me to dinner or order in. He’d buy me coffee in the mornings to make up for the late nights. He got...closer, physically closer. A hand on my lower back guiding me through a door or leaning closely over my shoulder as I pointed something out I had discovered in my research. He was smart, witty, and we started disclosing our pasts to each other as we saw each other nearly every day. I never realized…. I didn’t even dream….”

“I was a student. Arguably a brilliant one, but he’d taught hundreds of students. No doubt others just like me. But he showed me attention. Attention I had never had. The gifts became more personal, more intimate,” I said, my words rushing out quickly. I swallowed, the pit of my stomach churning. “Molly, you don’t have to…” Sherlock stepped towards me but I put my hand up,”-- Yes. Let me get this out, please. You need to know who we’re dealing with,” I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the pain and confusion in his eyes. No doubt he felt helpless. He had to watch me unravel in front of him. I felt like a piece of my chest was being ripped out, but I had to tell him the truth. “There were times when our conversations turned away from work. We’d discuss serial killers, psychological profiling and some of the projects he was working on relating to decomposition and even truth detection. He always commented on how unpolluted my mind was. How I was so pure and so steadfast in my own morals and what I deemed right and wrong.”

  
“One night he asked me to dinner at his home. He said there would be other professors there and students. I wanted to decline, but he was insistent. I hesitantly agreed, and he kissed me lightly on the cheek and rushed out the office door. I arrived later that night, dressed as one would for a dinner party, and still perplexed about the kiss earlier. I was welcomed in, but when I walked into the entryway, there were no other guests to be found.”

  
“I should have left then and there, something in my gut begged me to run. Peter smiled and took my coat, politely escorting me into the dining room, and I dared not refuse. Only two plates were set, and candles lit the room. We ate in relative silence, my heart was pounding in my ears. I remember that. I drank the wine placed in front of me quickly, unsure as to why I was there and what all of it meant. All of a sudden, he spoke up. ‘You must be wondering why I brought you here, and why I lied about the other guests.’ A smirk appeared on his lips as he dabbed the corners of his mouth slowly. My head began to spin. At first I thought it was just the wine. I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself. “I didn't think I'd get you here otherwise, I needed to put your propriety at ease,” He stood up slowly and then walked around the table slowly, sizing me up. He pulled me out of my chair and I unwillingly leaned against him. I couldn’t make my limbs move, any words I tried to utter were lost in a thick fog. He leaned down next to my ear and whispered. ‘You know I love you, Molly. Ever since you walked into my class I have watched you, craved you, needed you. I’ve wanted to confess this for so long.’ Sherlock walked quickly to me,“Molly you’re shaking.”He said, and I looked down at my trembling hands, then clenched them tightly together to calm myself. “I can still feel his warm breath on my cheek. All I wanted to do was run. I wanted to scream and run out of there. ‘See that white residue on the rim of your glass, Molly? Undetectable wasn’t it? Rohypnol. A good bit too.'"

"All I remember after that was looking up at him, pleading with my eyes, begging him to stop, hoping he’d stop.” A ragged sigh escaped my lips and I felt a tear drip down my face. “The rest I hardly remember. Bits and pieces slip through. A caress up my thigh, a soft satin duvet, teeth on my neck. I woke up the next morning in my own bed. I went to the police station and had a rape kit done. No one believed me when I said who it was. Not the Dean, the police, no one. I begged someone to check the dorm surveillance footage. No one would help me. I had a friend in cybersecurity find the video footage and extract it so I could go to the Dean and show Peter carrying my limp body into my dorm room that night, running his hand up my thigh, and leaving. I watched that video over, and over, and over. Like I was convincing even myself of what had happened." 

"The investigation was extensive, and with a warrant they found photos of me. Peter had been stalking me. Tracking my coming and going. Writing explicit, extensive notes about my body. My mannerisms. It was thought I would eventually become prey to a man who could dispose all the evidence and get away with it. Other evidence was found too. I only know that a few unsolved disappearances came to light, but nothing they could definitely prove he had actually committed. He was subsequently fired, and a year later, with no job prospects and his reputation tarnished, he was found in his home, dead. Overdose.”

I said nothing for a while, Sherlock stood quietly, calmly. “The nightmares came after everything was over. They were vivid at first, but other than those nightly recurrences, I tried to live a normal life. People talked. They said I’d wanted it, that it had been an ongoing fling and that once I got scared of being caught I fabricated evidence to place the blame on him.” A few more tears dripped down my face. I felt the wet warmth, but I didn’t really feel sad. Maybe it was repressed memories surfacing. “I even… sometimes I blamed myself for his death. But I eventually realized it was not my fault. That I was the victim, and I could put all of it behind me on graduation day and continue on my path with no strings.” I let out a heavy, ragged sigh. I shuffled closer to Sherlock, laying my head gently on his chest. He slowly wrapped his arms loosely around my small frame. I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat. It was slow and calm and it lulled me into a calmness on its own. “I had hoped to never have to tell you this. I had hoped I could spare myself the pain by never speaking of it again. But you’re in danger, Sherlock.” I held my breath as I heard his heartbeat quicken slightly. “I know you were always worried that I’d be a target. If you got close to me, I’d eventually become leverage to the next criminal who paid enough attention.” I finally looked up at him. His jaw was tense, his gaze was steady. “Who would have ever thought that Sherlock Holmes would ever be used as leverage against Molly Hooper?”


	13. Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while to write, apologies for that. All of you know that I struggle with Sherlock's perspective. Please enjoy! FYI, I think that there will only be about three or so more chapters. Eek! Can you believe it? We are nearing the end, my dear readers. Hopefully this won't be my last fan fiction I write, but it was one hell of a first!

SHERLOCK 

“Who would have ever thought that Sherlock Holmes could be used as leverage against Molly Hooper?” She closed her eyes, the last few words of her sentence sounded strained. She leaned against my chest, her breathing slowing as minutes passed. She felt so fragile and small as I held her in my arms. This woman had gone through so much in her life that I had no idea about. At one point in our relationship, I would have been indifferent. These were past personal details I never would have dreamed of discovering. I would mark them as irrelevant, unless they had a tendency to reveal patterns leading to current characteristics, habits, motivations. How the tables had turned.  
As she leaned against my chest, my arms draped loosely around her small frame, a vivid memory surfaced from my childhood. Mycroft and I had decided to turn our voracious appetite for knowledge towards nature, more specifically, entomology. I remember catching a butterfly and placing it in an environment carefully devised by twelve-year-old Mycroft and myself, and naively hoping it would continue to live forever. The next day, to our surprise, we found the butterfly smashed against the glass inside its new home. The culprit? Eurus. She wanted to play with the butterfly and to touch the butterfly, but in a fit of frustration, she crushed it. I realized then that keeping the butterfly in that cage meant certain destruction. By depriving it of its freedom and secluding it from its own environment and placing it in my own, I had ended its life prematurely, even with the opposite intention. By subjecting the butterfly’s fragile nature to a container, and to easy access by Eurus, I had ensured death. I learned a lesson that day, a very painful lesson about fragile things. Though she wouldn’t admit it and she would fight me tooth and nail on the issue, Molly was fragile deep down. Just like the butterfly. I could only hope I could now keep her safe from destruction, but an innate fear creeped into me that I might not be able to do so.

My jacket pocket buzzed frantically, and I pulled away only to motion for Molly to grab my phone. She slipped out the device easily, reading the caller ID and turning the front for my own perusal: John. She handed the phone over to me and I put my finger to my lips, and she nodded in understanding and turned to walk across the kitchen as I pressed speakerphone.  
“John, how’s the clean up coming along?” A smirk spread across my face as I heard John shifting through the rubble. No doubt he’d been cursing my name under his breath nearly all day.  
“Just swimmingly Sherlock, thanks for asking. By the way, where are you?” His voice was muffled, no doubt some time of respiration device as he sifted through the debris in our flat. When Molly heard John mention my whereabouts, she spun around and froze, shaking her head by instinct and hoping I wouldn’t mention that I was with her. I waved her concern away and continued, “Ah, just leaving Bart’s, been a long day.” God I sounded fake. John would see through that in an instant. “Yeah right. I have already spoken with Greg, he said you left hours ago.” More noise in the background as it sounded like he was climbing over something, mumbling under his breath as I stifled a laugh.  
“So I’m stuck cleaning up your mess, eh? How allegorical.” I added quickly, “Metaphorical John, it’s--” “Yes, yes you get my point.” John sighed heavily. Molly had moved to the cabinet and was pulling a bottle off of a shelf… was that Whiskey? Bourbon? Impressive. I titled my head slightly to admire how her pants stretched as she leaned forward, hugging her delightfully round bottom, her shirt inched slowly upwards as she strained to find something else eluding her reach. The supple skin on her stomach was slowly exposed. I took a quick intake of breath as I felt a similar strain against my pants, but I straightened once she turned around. “Why don’t you let Mycroft’s men fix it?” I blurted out, feeling a sudden need to end the phone call sooner rather than later. Probably something to do with the blood being dispersed… elsewhere.  
“Wait… Mycroft is sending in a clean up team?!?” John bellowed from what sounded like across the flat. Shit. Now keeping John busy while I completely fixed things with Molly was definitely off of the table. I compromised my plan because I really needed to get across the kitchen and kiss those full lips which turned up in an amused smile as she placed the bottle down. “Oh yes, didn’t I mention that?” I coughed, not sure where to go from here. Get it together, you prat.  
“Then what the hell am I doing right now, Sherlock?” John, now exasperated, seemed to be closer to the phone again.  
“Getting a head start?” Molly and I both stifled a laugh as John groaned. “Well I’m taking this bourbon you seemed to have stashed in the wall behind the bookcase and calling it a day.”  
“Fine. Call it payment for a job well done. I-- I’m a bit busy John, we’ll talk later?” I said quickly, but John wasn’t about to let me go that easily, “Busy with what? Are you in between hot sex sessions with Molly?” He jeered, and Molly dropped the pan she had started filling in the sink with a loud bang, “You TOLD him?!?!” She exclaimed, whipping around before I could even blink, “She doesn’t know that I know?” John chimed in from my phone, “Surprise you’re on speakerphone John.” I groaned as Molly crossed her arms and glared at me.  
“Oh that’s great. Jesus, Sherlock. Sorry Molly.” John added quickly. “Also, in case you were wondering, Greg filled me in on the er…. new case.” John was silent for a few moments, and Molly sighed, putting the water on to boil, I walked over quickly and shut the burner off. Molly looked at me quizzically, flipping it on again. I rolled my eyes and flipped it off as I mouthed ‘Take out my treat’ and she nodded, not willing to fight me on the issue. “Did Lestraude get any actual leads or just want to gossip?” I growled, rolling my eyes. Things were about to get complicated, and by complicated, I knew it would be downright bureaucratic. I was nearly sure Molly wasn’t having any of it.  
“Well, he says he’s going in with you. As backup. Said something about higher ups being involved in this ‘dinner party’. Obviously that means me too. How’s Molly taking this?” I turned towards the island as Molly swallowed a generous gulp of the dark liquid from the glass decanter and closed her eyes. “As well as can be expected.” I retorted as she poured another. I placed my hand gently on hers as she placed the bottle down. “John, we’ll discuss logistics tomorrow. I’m assuming Lestraude couldn’t identify whoever delivered the bodies or else you’d have told me that pertinent piece of information already. Will call tomorrow, good evening.”  
Before John had a chance to say something else, I ended the call and stuffed the device in my jacket pocket with my free hand, the other was still covering Molly’s hand gripped firmly on the bottle. She glared up at me, but I held my ground. Besides, her glare was laughable seeing as she was so much shorter than myself; like a toddler trying to intimidate their parents. Regardless, I knew I needed to explain and take her anger seriously, “John made that grand logical leap on his own. The whole… sex sessions--thing I never said anything of the sort.” I blurted out. Her gaze didn’t soften, but her grip wasn’t as tight on the bottle, so I considered that progress. “I only said we made amends. If he and Mrs. Hudson decided to titter together like two hens after I left, I had no idea.” Her gaze softened slowly, her hand slipped down from the bottle to the counter.  
“Sherlock, I don’t want any of you to follow me into that dinner party tomorrow.” She started, her eyes moving to mine, her voice was firmer than it had been all evening. “I won’t risk losing you. Or blame myself if anything happens to John or Greg. I know who I’m up against.” Her gaze broke from mine.  
“Well I’m not letting you do this alone.” I grabbed her hands firmly in my own, trying to pull her out of her own thoughts. “You’re not going with me Sherlock. None of you are.” Her voice was ice cold and emotionless as she ripped her hands away from my grip, turning around and striding quickly out of the kitchen towards her tiny foyer. I groaned audibly. Leave it to Molly to insist on protecting me. On protecting us. After all the stories John and I had told her, after everything she had seen us do, she would be the one to be completely pigheaded in trying to protect us. It’s what Mary would have done, too. My stomach dropped at the thought, but I pushed it aside as I rushed after her into the foyer.  
She had already approached the items on the cart, had unzipped her bag quickly, which revealed a bright red evening gown. She looked disgusted as she untied the red ribbon and took the top off of the satin black Louis Vuitton box, throwing tissue paper out angrily. She shook her head, as she revealed a pair of black pumps in her size. She knelt in front of the cart, her shoulders sinking, “This isn’t a typical case Sherlock. This is a game. We have to play this….” She gestured frantically at the apparel in front of her, “Sick, twisted game because of me.”  
I knelt slowly beside her, watching the tears fall softly on the tissue paper which had been the victim of Molly’s anger. I pulled her to my chest, “Listen to me. None of this is your fault.” Her tears started to soak through my shirt, but I held her tighter.  
“You, my love, have been strong for so long. All by yourself.” She began to sob, I pulled her chin up to meet my gaze, stroking her tear stained cheeks with my thumbs, her lip trembled slightly, but her breathing became less erratic, “Let us help you. Let…. me help. Please. I can’t allow you to fight alone anymore, Molly Hooper.” I kissed her forehead slowly as she exhaled, her body sagging against me. We leaned against each other in that mess of paper, my forehead against hers, I stroked her hair slowly, running through the ends each time. I leaned in and kissed her lips softly, tasting the salt from her tears and still craving more.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I know I have been on a hiatus for WAY TOO LONG. Life has been crazy and this chapter was a pain in the butt to write! I have re-written this chapter 3 or 4 times. I wanted to write a sex scene, (I truly did) but I realize that is not where my talents lie and I would be super hard on myself for not doing it right. So this chapter will give you enough to know what happens next, but I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

MOLLY

I felt like my life was simultaneously shattering into a million pieces, and yet coming back together again, like when muscles tear and grow back stronger. It didn’t compute; but feelings rarely did. It just didn’t seem real; Peter Voor was back in the forefront of my mind, along with my childhood traumas. I had pushed those memories into a corner of my mind, hoping to never have to revisit them. How foolish that seemed now. No one really knew about that part of me. Many of my current friendships and relationships had developed after university, and for good reason. But now, my mind couldn’t even come up with a word or even a sentence to describe how I felt these last two days. A whirlwind of events coupled with a lifetime of emotional turmoil, all surfacing within 48 hours. I had cried more than I could ever remember. But there was Sherlock.  
I sank into Sherlock’s chest, the calm, rhythmic rising and falling soothing me as I took a deep breath of his cologne, his essence, him. I felt his nimble fingertips run along my back slowly, tracing soothing circles as he just sat there on the floor of my apartment holding me. “This feels like a dream, Sherlock,” I finally uttered, my voice was ragged and muffled as I still leaned against his shoulder, and I didn’t recognize it. They say people carry around emotional baggage; I could finally hear the strain it had taken on me for years as I carried it with me silently. I had kept my secrets close; so close even Sherlock never realized I had them. It was for the best. I was already vulnerable around him and I couldn’t chance giving him a glimpse into my past. But now, with everything so open and exposed, it just didn’t seem to make sense to keep any of it hidden any longer.

“ I… can’t tell if I want to wake up or not,” I swallowed, finally looking up into his blue-green eyes, hoping for God knows what. I always had a grip on things. I always knew what the next step was, and I’d likely planned it for months in advance. It’s why I’d never needed to rely on anyone. My own self-reliance had been something I was always proud of. I never needed an anchor, at least I never made a person an anchor because I knew better. But I was looking into his eyes searching for answers, because I felt like I was drowning in a mixture of emotions I couldn’t pull myself out of. Was it so bad to want him to put me back together again? Yes. Yes it was. Sherlock has always avoided putting things back together. He left the tedious work for Mycroft, and Mycroft left it for whomever he hired to do it. Or John would come along and smooth things over where Sherlock bungled things up. Things had changed, but I knew that Sherlock could not fix this. We would have to work together to fix this, and I think it scared us both.

He leaned in and kissed my forehead gently, his full lips lingering, rubbing my arms slowly up and down. “You’re not dreaming, but you do need sleep.” He pulled away slowly, looking into my eyes and evaluating me with one look, his eyes scanning mine quickly. I kissed him on the cheek quickly, managing a small half smile, my eyes already growing heavy after the day I had been through. He smiled back, and pushed a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, “I’ll order in while you take a shower, we’ll eat, and then you’re going to sleep,” He chuckled, stroking my cheek with his thumb, to which I quickly retorted, “How can I sleep with everything that’s going to happen? We haven’t even started planning how we’re going to approach the dinner party, and Peter, and...” I swallowed deeply, trying to figure out where to begin, my mind wandering, “John is bringing a mild sedative for you, and I hope you would take it,” He said, his eyes pleading, his smile fading slightly, “Though I won’t impose anything on you.” He helped me to my feet slowly, his grip firm on my thin frame. 

“What about you?” I asked, to which he quickly replied, “I’ll be fine. I’ll be sitting up thinking and watching over you.” He said, pulling out his phone to order food, “You know how I am when I’m on a case,” He stopped mid-text and looked up. He probably thought this would trigger my protestations, but I bit my lower lip, betraying my own silent disappointment. “Could you at least be with me… er-- be in my room tonight?” I said softly, my eyes averting habitually. Sherlock’s lip upturned in his trademark smirk, “Of course…. I have to keep an eye on you, which requires you to be in my line of vision, ” He added, kissing the corner of my lips lightly, his lips lingering and I could feel my heart beat faster, I sighed shakily, gritting my teeth at the fire making its way down to my lower abdomen. I cleared my throat and walked towards my bedroom, “I’ll be in the shower then,” I said, smiling back quickly at Sherlock, who was already calling John for his request and slipping off his shoes. 

I turned the water on in the shower, running it hot as I could possibly stand. As I waited for the water heater to kick on, I slipped out of my scrubs quietly, breathing in the steam like it alone would calm my nerves. I turned to look at myself in the mirror, analyzing myself. Tired eyes, more tired than usual, my hair smelled of formaldehyde and antiseptic as I pulled the hair band down letting the loose tresses fall across my shoulders. I slid into the shower, the steam enveloping me and the hot water instantly setting my muscles at ease. The tension melted as I started to scrub my hair thoroughly with my lavender shampoo, and my mind wandered back to how Sherlock had acted the past day. He tried to hide it, but there was something there; something different. There was still a underlying tension between us; residue from the night before. A need that we both had yet to address. I’d catch him looking at me with an intensity I couldn’t explain, but he’d mask it once he knew I had noticed his gaze. I knew that he didn’t know how to grapple with the feelings and the urges. He was calculating, and he was patient and wouldn’t let his desires or emotions ruin what he was fighting to rebuild. I smiled at the thought as I allowed the suds of my body wash to cover me thoroughly, rinsing and stepping out of the shower and toweling my long hair thoroughly. I overheard John’s familiar tenor in a hush tone speaking with Sherlock, who retorted in a similar hushed baritone. Surely John was questioning him quickly before I walked out of the bathroom and interrupted them. I wrapped my towel around my body, cursing myself for, in my absent mindedness, forgetting my clothes in the bedroom. I listened for the door to shut and Sherlock seemed to be busying himself in the kitchen. I tiptoed out of the bathroom, trying to silently make my way to my bedroom to fetch my nightclothes, “Molly, I need you for a second,” Sherlock said, my feet stopping mid-step. I should have known better that sneaking around was probably useless with him around. I cursed my lack of preparation, but something deep in the back of my mind wanted to walk into the kitchen with only my towel… or nothing at all. I wanted to get his attention. I think we both wanted it. It would only take a little push. Without putting much thought into it, I sauntered into the kitchen nonchalantly. Sherlock turned and the plate he was holding in his left hand tilted slightly as I caught him off guard. His pupils widened, but I acted indifferent and took the plate before he could fumble, “Thank you,” I smiled, and he swallowed and cleared his throat, “My pleasure,” The words were smooth as he regained his collected persona. He followed closely behind me into the living room and I felt his eyes taking in everything; the way my bottom almost peaked out of the towel, my legs, my hair, curly and wet, the way the last few water droplets that hung to my shoulders. I smiled to myself as I set my plate down on the coffee table, and turned to head towards my bedroom to fetch my pyjamas, but his hand grabbed my wrist quickly, so I stopped midstep. We stood there, my heart was pounding in my chest, my cheeks grew hot. I didn’t meet his gaze, surprised at the sudden shift in mood. Sherlock seemed to be surprised at his own actions, but I felt him draw closer, his hands ran up to my shoulders, pushing the damp hair aside slowly, exposing my neck and shoulders. My eyes fluttered shut. How long had I wanted this? Too long, my body reminded me as heat pooled in my abdomen. He pulled me closer gently, his lips caressing my shoulder, my neck, his breath was hot in my ear, “Molly, my Molly,” he whispered, slowly turning me to face him. My face was red hot, my eyes down but he turned my chin upwards quickly, making me look him in his eyes. God, those eyes. The blue had overtaken the soft green and gold flecks around the irises as he stared deeply into my eyes. He gently, and cautiously ran his hand along my jaw, I closed my eyes and leaned into his hand, feeling the soft palms and the rough fingers, taking in everything. I opened my eyes and Sherlock pulled me closer, we were chest to chest. He swallowed deeply, eyeing my towel but saying nothing. I took his hand in mine and we both untucked it from the side, and I let it fall to the ground, and I tried not to instinctively cover myself. Sherlock let out a shuttered breath, his nostrils flared as his eyes began to scan my form, taking in everything. I felt to so vulnerable at that moment, but I let him study my body quietly for what seemed like ages, then he nearly ripped his shirt for attempting to get the buttons loose, and I laughed and helped unbutton it, my fingers nimbly working downwards towards his waist. I stopped my downward pursuit to put my hand on his bare, porcelain chest. His heart was racing just like mine, I smiled and my eyes wandered downward, where I unbuttoned his straining trousers slowly, eyeing the length of the bulge, somewhat intimidated, but palming it softly. His breathing hitched as I unzipped his trousers, and he pushed them off slowly and kicked them in the corner, and caught me in a kiss as I saw the discarded trousers slide near the sofa. His kisses took my breath away, he nipped at my lips and I ran my trembling hands over his torso. He tangled his hands in my wet locks, deepening the kiss as our tongues melded, I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. His kisses trailed down my neck, nipping gently at my collar bone, then lifted me into the air and I wrapped my legs around him, laughing airily as I kissed him, holding myself up with my arms wrapped around his neck. “Where are you taking me, Mr. Holmes?” I goaded as if I didn’t already know, as he started to walk towards my bedroom, he sat me on the bed, his fingers and eyes taking in my form once more, “In this bedroom, on the kitchen island, on the sofa, wherever you’ll let me,” He growled, the corner of his mouth turning up in a wicked grin, “Once I start I don’t think I’ll be able to get enough, Miss Hooper.” And I hoped he never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I love feedback and comments.


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